The Cathedral
by YFWE
Summary: Jake and friends are summoned to a local cathedral, where a malicious presence has been both felt and witnessed. What is it, and are there other underlying reasons for the American Dragon being called there? First multi-chapter fic in years!


I haven't tried a multi-chapter fanfic for AmDrag (excluding TDC, which is largely OC-based) in about a year and a half. I figured it was time to try one and see what happened.

American Dragon: Jake Long and its characters are copyrighted to the Walt Disney Company. In addition, I am aware that the St. Patrick's Cathedral is a real cathedral in New York. This cathedral is only similar in name.

And before you ask, I am not highly religious. Yes, I do go to church every Sunday. But I don't go into extremes about it. The reason I make this disclaimer is for possible themes later on in the fanfic.

Yeah, here we go.

The Cathedral

Ch. 1: The Call

YFWE

The call had come to Lao Shi's shop at 8:00 am—rather early, in comparison to the usual time frame. Of course, the calls received by the shop were normally business calls—a TV needed to be returned or the hours in which the store was open needed to be inquired. But no, this was different. True, it was a business call. Just not for Lao Shi's electronics store.

Actually, the phone had ringed twice—Lao, having been sound asleep, had not heard the phone ring the first time. But, oh, he heard it the second time. Arthur P. Spudinski made it so.

"Grandpa, telephone call!" came Spud's bright voice as he lumbered into Lao Shi's bedroom.

The old man sighed. It was not like he _disliked_ Spud—he had always taken somewhat of a liking to his grandson Jake's friends, even the ones that ended up trying to kill him. He even liked the boy enough to allow him and Jake's other good friend, Trixie Carter, to stay the night at his shop. He did not see why they would want to—there were far less things to do in his home than, say, Jake's home. Nevertheless, they were there—and had been relatively quiet and undisruptive to the old man. That is, until right then.

"Did you hear me, Grandpa? Phone's ringing!" Spud exclaimed again. In his hand he was waving the sole phone in the building, which was still ringing. Not having an answering machine, Lao Shi knew that it would continue to ring, until either the caller gave up or he answered it.

He yawned, and then said, "First of all, Spud, why do you insist upon calling me 'Grandpa' when I am, in fact, not your Grandpa?"

"I dunno, it just feels right when I'm in your house. My actual grandparents don't even live in town, anyway, so you're about as close to a Grandpa as I have," replied Spud.

"I am flattered. Well, give me the phone, then."

Spud tossed the phone to Lao Shi, and then bolted from the room, calling downstairs, "I hope you've kept that burner going, Trix! New York's greatest omelet chef is returning!"

"Note to self—I'll need to buy more eggs tomorrow," said Lao Shi. He glanced at the still-ringing phone—which had to be on at least its tenth ring at this point—pressed the green talk button and said, in his best business-like tone, "Hello, you've reached Lao Shi's Electronics and More. This is Lao Shi. How may I help you?"

Although it was obvious that there was a presence on the other line, such a presence did not directly make itself known initially. There was a long pause, followed by a slight stammer. "Um… good day to you, sir." The voice was that of a man, an old and frail man. "I have been told that this is the number to contact JST Extermination Services?"

Lao Shi paused. "I am sorry, sir… perhaps you have the wrong number? This is the number for Lao Shi's Electronics and More…"

"Yes, well… from what I have heard, this is also the number for JST Extermination Services, that they are operating out of the same building…"

"Oh? And who told you this?"

"I cannot recall, sir. I do, however, recall being told to ask for a… Arthur Spudinski?"

Lao Shi sighed deeply. "Why, yes… I am terribly sorry, but it must have slipped my mind. Mr. Spudinski is just downstairs—can you hold on for a moment?"

"Gladly, sir. Thank you."

The old man took the phone from his ear and, when it was from close vicinity of his mouth, muttered, "Arthur Spudinski has quite a bit of explaining to do, I would say." He got out of bed and, not bothering to change out of his pajamas, exited his bedroom and went downstairs. He rounded a corner once he was at the foot of the stairs, which placed him in the kitchen.

All three of his distinguished guests, plus Fu Dog, were in the kitchen, the strong aroma of frying eggs and butter filling the room, as well as something else he could not quite pinpoint. There was a loud frying sound coming from the top of the stove as well, and the slightest cloud of smoke had begun to form throughout the room.

Spud stood at the stove, an oversized white cook's hat slanted atop his head. He held two separate pans in his hands, both of which held omelets; the contents of which were unknown, but likely contained cheese and peppers, judging by the opened Kraft wrappers on the table and the scattered remnants of green pepper stems displaced on the floor. "Oh, hi, Grandpa!" Spud beamed when he saw the man walk into the kitchen. "You want an omelet too?" After this had been said, he flung both finished omelets into the air. They soared toward the kitchen table, where Jake and Trixie were seated. Jake had already received his breakfast from Spud and did not even notice Lao Shi's entrance or the two airborne omelets. Trixie held out her plate and caught one of the omelets. "Thanks, Spud," she said shortly, and without another word, dove into her food. From behind the table, Fu leapt from the floor and caught the other omelet in his mouth. He said something—possibly a murmur of thanks—but it was indistinct, as his mouth was now full of what was deemed New York's best omelets.

"Er—later, perhaps," Lao Shi finally replied. He held out the phone to Spud. "It's for you."

"For me?!" exclaimed Spud, as he cracked two more eggs into one of the pans and tossed it onto the stove. "Who'd be calling for me at your place?"

"I cannot say. But they're enquiring about a JST Extermination Services? Would we happen to know anything about this?"

"_WOULD _we?!" Spud sprang from his spot by the stove, dropping a few freshly-cut tomatoes in the process, and rushed over to where Lao Shi stood. "Let's make a trade," he said quickly. He took the phone from Lao's hands and, in return, placed his large cook's hat atop the old man's head, which slid down over his face immediately.

"Yes, you've reached JST Extermination Services. This is Arthur Spudinski, but you can call me Spud. However may I be of service to you?" Spud gushed, nearly running his words together as he spoke. A wide, toothy grin spread across his face. He once again sprang from his spot, leaping from the kitchen and into the front of the store, where no one else was at that point.

At first, Lai Shi said nothing, and nor did Jake, Trixie, or Fu—but then, their mouths were full. The owner of the shop stalked over to the kitchen table, sat down across from his guests, threw Spud's cook's hat across the room, and took a croissant from a basket at the center of the table, something Spud had likely set out as well. He bit into the bread—quite a large bite—and swallowed, before saying, "Alright. What is this JST thing all about?"

Trixie shrugged. Jake did not even acknowledge his grandfather's presence once more. Fu was invisible behind the table.

"I'll ask again, since I do not appreciate my shop's number being utilized for another business, and furthermore, I am not stupid. I know what JST stands for."

Jake looked up. "Oh, hey, Gramps. When did you get in here?"

Trixie swallowed hard, with a noticeable gulp. "Uh, JST? I have no idea. Jake, do you know?"

"Know what?"

"Exactly. Fu?"

Another muffled sound.

"Nope, sorry," Trixie said, turning back to Lao Shi. "We know nothing."

"Jake Spud Trixie. JST."

"Is _that _what is stands for?" asked Jake.

"What a coincidence!" Trixie laughed awkwardly.

Lao Shi glared at the two of them, one after the other. "I'm waiting…"

After a few moments, Jake sighed hugely. "Sorry, Gramps… we were just getting a little bored lately, y'know?"

"So you created your own company. What do you even "exterminate?" Rats? Cockroaches?"

"Not exactly…" Trixie said, averting her gaze.

Spud then reentered the room, the same wide smile still painted onto his face. "We've got a customer!" he said brightly.

"Nice!" Jake exclaimed.

"Ooh, who's the customer?" asked Fu as he jumped up onto one of the chairs around the table. Bits of egg still hung at the edges of his mouth.

"QUIET!" blurted Lao Shi suddenly. At this, the room fell silent. "Well, now that your company that I did not approve of now has its first customer, I ask again—what will you be exterminating?"

"Well, Grandpa…" said Spud, not seeming to realize how annoyed Lao Shi was, "have you ever seen the movie Ghostbusters, starring Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis, Ernie Hudson, Rick Moranis, _and others_?"

"No, I do not believe I have. And please stop calling me Grandpa."

"They exterminate ghosts and other evil creatures. 'Bust' them, if you will, to provide insight on the witty little title."

"You're going to exterminate ghosts? How and why?"

"Why? For the money and as a remedy to our extreme boredom," replied Spud. "How? Well, I devised a little something…"

"With my help!" interjected Fu.

"…that is vaguely similar to what the Ghostbusters used, at least in looks. But we've got something that the Ghostbusters didn't have—magic. And lots of it. Basically, they're like these little guns that can catch the ghosts and send them to the other side, wherever they're headed."

"Problem is," said Trixie, "we don't know if they work."

"Well, I'm SORRY I haven't been able to test them yet," Spud countered. "It's not every day you see a ghosts just walking around."

"Technically, they don't walk…" started Fu.

"Oh, whatever." Spud turned back to Lao Shi. "So there. That's what we're doing. That's what JST Extermination Services is all about."

"And you actually got a customer?" the old man shot back.

"Yes, actually! And a very prominent person, at that!"

"Oh? And who would that be?"

"Reverend John McHugh, of St. Patrick's Cathedral!"

"St. Patrick's Cathedral? That's one of the largest cathedrals in the state!"

"I know!" nodded Spud. "We really hit it big!"

Lao Shi waited for one of them to say anything else, before sighing. "Fine, go. Good luck. Just promise me you'll leave me out of this?"

"Sure! You can be our… secretary!" Trixie said. "In case anyone else calls."

"I believe I will pass."

"Alright," Spud moved so that he stood at the head of the table, facing Fu, Trixie, and Spud. "We haven't much time! Reverend McHugh and our money is waiting! You know what this means, right?"

"No…" Jake replied.

"Load up the Spud-mobile, of course!"

"…you mean your bike?"

"Do you have a better plan?" asked Spud.

"We could just walk…" Trixie suggested. "Since none of us have a car, you know."

Spud groaned. "You know how unprofessional we're gonna look just walking up the sidewalk?"

"Use the money to buy a car, then. At least a used one," said Fu.

Spud stalked out of the room. He returned minutes later, with a large duffel bag. "Our equipment," he said to Lao Shi, who had been eying the bag with slight curiosity. He then turned to the rest of the group. "Reverend McHugh expects us there in a half an hour, so we must get going. JST, assemble!"

"We're already here," Trixie said. "All of us."

"Even better! Let's go!" Spud ran out of the room as fast as he could with the large duffel bag, which appeared to be marginally heavy. "Well, see ya later, Gramps," Jake said. He, Trixie, and Fu followed, leaving Lao Shi alone in the kitchen—alone to clean up the mess Spud had made, including the burnt eggs that he had forgotten about.

But while the JST Extermination Services staff was lighthearted and relatively carefree at that time, as they walked briskly up the sidewalk toward St. Patrick's Cathedral, they did not know what the future would hold for them—whether or not whatever was troubling the cathedral would turn up, or if their equipment would work. Nor did they know the real reason why they were called to the cathedral, of the underlying motives that would not benefit the American Dragon and his friends. No, they couldn't have—not even the Reverend John McHugh knew about it. But one thing was for certain—there was an evil presence inside the cathedral. And it would not rest until the American Dragon was vanquished.

END CHAPTER

Ohsnap, isn't that wonderful. Well, please review, and I will try to have a new chapter soon. I do thank you for reading!

YFWE


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